


BRANDYGRAM

by Mikkeneko



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F!Brosca/Zevran, F/M, M/M, Open Relationships, i am dragon age trash now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Vigil's Keep, Zevran Arainai returns to reunite with his Warden. The Warden, however, is somewhat concerned at the state of mind of her new companions. Zevran thinks that the time has come for him to get to know the new people in his love's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although this isn't a very long fic, I'm splitting it into two parts mostly so those people who aren't interested in reading about other people's Wardens can skip directly to the second chapter for the hot companion-on-companion action. Honestly, my biggest regret about DA has always been that you can't get your companions to romance _each other._ (Alistair and Morrigan notwithstanding.)

Being the Warden-Commander of Vigil's Keep came with certain perks, Zevran thought with approval. The finest rooms in the Keep - and all right, it was a working fortress so even they were not so fine, not so large or luxurious as might be found in Denerim or Val Royeaux. But the rooms were clean, the floors and walls well-sanded and covered with warm tapestries, lit with oil lamps and candle-braces. The bed was a large and sturdy four-poster, topped with two rush mattresses and down-stuffed pillows, and adorned with a riot of womanly curves and a splash of blood-red hair against the coverlet. (This last was not, perhaps, a perk of  _being_  the Warden-Commander, but it was certainly a perk of  _sleeping_  with one.)

All in all Zevran had slept in much worse places than this. Much, much worse places.

"Mm." The lovely woman curled in his arms stirred herself, and sat up to stretch and yawn unashamedly, putting one hand on her neck and then her shoulder to pop the joints into alignment. "I almost forgot."

She oozed across the coverlet and stretched one hand out, reaching for the cupboard built into the sturdy nightstand while Zevran watched in appreciation, lounging on the covers behind her. A few moments of rustling and clinking and she sat back up with a heavy glass bottle in her hand and a smug smile on her face. "Fine Antivan brandy, imported right from Rialto. I've been saving it, in the hopes that you would show your stupid elf face again."

Zevran made all the proper appreciative noises as he sat up in bed to receive one of the glass tumblers, and allowed his lover to pour for him. "Cheers," Natya said, clinking her glass against his solemnly. "Here's to us!"

"Who's like us?" Zevran responded with a grin.

"Damn few, and they're all dead!" Natya gave the traditional answer, and knocked the snifter back. Zevran followed suit, and moaned aloud at the warm smoky feel of the brandy curling down his throat.

"Ah my love, you spoil me so," Zevran sighed happily, oozing down on the covers again. "Whatever will people think?"

Natya snorted. "At this point they've made me the Commander of the Grey Wardens, the Arlessa of Amaranthine, the Hero of Ferelden and sister-in-law to the king of Orzrammar." She rolled her eyes. "If I can't use my position to spoil the people who are important to me, what's the sodding point?"

"You always did like to give gifts to your friends," Zevran recalled nostalgically. "And as always, such interesting friends you collect. Who is that blond one I saw in the courtyard earlier cracking jokes? A replacement for our Alistair, is he?" To tell the truth - not that he would say so out loud, at least not within swinging distance - all human men kind of looked alike to Zevran. He usually relied on cues of clothing or hairstyle to tell them apart when the features blended together.

"Nah," Natya dismissed the idea with a flick of her fingers. "He's a mage. Ran away from the Circle, apparently, and I thought he'd be more useful working for the Wardens than decorating a hangman's noose."

"Ah, a replacement  _apostate_  then," Zevran nodded knowingly. "How I miss our dear Morrigan."

As ever, Natya ignored the reference to the missing witch. Zevran knew that she had taken Morrigan to heart as another sister, human or no, and had never quite gotten over her abandonment after the battle. "I never got that word, honestly," she said thoughtfully. "An 'apostate' is a member of a faith who's turned his back on it, or so I hear. If you never bought into the faith in the first place, how can you be an 'apostate?' You can't leave something if you were never there to begin with."

Zevran smiled mistily at her, and leaned down to claim a kiss. "Have I ever mentioned how dreadfully attractive you are when you're subversive?" he asked.

Natya rolled her eyes. "It's not  _my_  religion, so I don't see why I should pussyfoot around it," she said with a snort. Her expression quickly sobered. "Anders is a good kid, though. Best healer I've ever met."

"Really?" Zevran cocked an eyebrow. "Better than Wynne of the wise and stately ... experience?"

"Stones, yes," Natya exclaimed. "I never felt in danger when Anders is on healing duty. And he manages it without costing me a fortune in lyrium potions, too. Don't get me wrong, I loved Wynne dearly but I swear, she drained that stuff like Oghren goes through whiskey."

And there was that copper-pinching, Zevran reflected with a touch of sadness. No matter how many estates and titles you became loaded down with, no matter how expensive the gifts you freely distributed to your friends, it was always still lurking right down there with the rest of the unconscious habits. When you'd been down at the bottom of the barrel, scraping every last copper just to survive, that was a mindset you could never truly escape from. He would know; he'd been there, too.

"Honestly though, I'm worried about Anders," Natya continued. "Ever since we got back to Vigil's Keep he's been... subdued."

"Subdued? Really?" The second eyebrow joined the first, climbing Zevran's forehead in disbelief. "In the courtyard earlier he summoned a windstorm that lifted the skirt of every member of the delegation from Kinloch hold!  _That_  is subdued?!"

Natya laughed out loud, tossing her head back as her kinked red locks went flying. "Compared to how he usually is,  _yes_ ," she said, trailing off into a most un-Warden like giggle.

She sobered up again in the next moment, though. "I won't say his life has been easy, but I think he was very sheltered in the Circle, and didn't get into fights much," she said. "I think this was the most violence he's ever seen at once in his life. The first time…" She trailed off for a moment in brooding silence. "The first time is hard."

"Yes, it's true..." Zevran sighed, and there were a few heartbeats of silence between them before he filled it with, "Have you tried sleeping with him? I find that never fails to lighten the mood."

"No." Natya scowled. "Not that I didn't offer. Ancestors! When I suggested it to him he practically ran out of the room like his skirt was on fire! It was actually pretty insulting."

Zev couldn't keep from laughing - not an affected chuckle of amusement but a full-bodied belly laugh. It never ceased to amuse him how after all this time, his lover still didn't understand just how terrifying she could be, especially to those who didn't wear plate and swing broadswords for a living. She seemed to think that just because  _she_  liked someone, that automatically that someone would no longer be afraid of her. It didn't work that way; not even for him.

Of course, Zev had always been attracted to danger. It was one of his failings. "Piece of advice, love," he told her with gentle amusement. "When flirting with a mage, try taking off the silverite plate armor first."

Natya blinked at him. "Why?" she asked blankly.

Zev waved his hand. Although he was elf enough to find Natya's profound indifference to human prejudices and human customs amusingly validating, she could also be remarkably tone-deaf sometimes to their concerns. The mage-templar divide was one that went, so to speak, right over her head. "I am assured by my mage friends that it is a significant mood-killer," he said. "Never mind, never mind."

Natya made a demanding come-hither gesture in his direction. Zevran obligingly went thither, and they settled back into the pillows together. "Besides, he's more like a little brother to me," she said as an afterthought.

"Ah. And like all your siblings, you make it your place meddle in his love life?" Zevran said knowingly. "I'm afraid we're fresh out of kings for you to marry him off to. Perhaps you could import a high noble from the Free Marches? Kirkwall? I hear the prince of Starkhaven has an unmarried son with quite the reputation - "

"I only have  _one_  sister!" Natya interrupted.

"And you made her lover a king," Zevran pointed out. "And then there's Alistair, whom you arranged to marry off to a queen. It's kind of a pattern, love," he teased her gently.

Natya scowled. "We're not counting Alistair."

Zevran affected surprise. "We're not?" he said. "You  _did_  tell me once that you loved him like a brother. I thought it sounded -"

" - delightfully kinky, yes, I remember," Natya said drily. "Maybe  _you_  should sleep with Anders. If that can't cheer him up, nothing would."

Zevran had opened his mouth with another teasing riposte, before the meaning of her words really sank into his mind. Then he sat back, stunned and blinking, mouth hanging open as he considered it. "Truly?" he asked. He loved Natya, as he had loved no woman before her, and he had tried his best to remain faithful while they were apart, but… he wasn't  _dead._  He still had eyes, and an entertainingly vivid imagination, and a virile enough body to respond to both. The mage in question was fresh and handsome, and more than that possessed of a certain energetic spirit that someone like Zevran couldn't help but be attracted to. "You would not mind?"

Natya smiled up at him, and leaned up to kiss him on the nose. "My sweet assassin," she said. "I never believed that I owned you, and I always knew that sex was far too important to your identity for me to try to constrain it."

The best response for that was another kiss, so Zevran did; Natya ran her hands across his flanks until they reached his ass, to which she gave a healthy pinch. Zevran broke off the kiss, both laughing.

" _My_  only concern is that you don't go tracking in any unpleasant rashes," Natya added. "And the best healer in Ferelden is probably the  _least_  likely person for that to be a worry!"

 

 

* * *

 

~to be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: The Warden's gushing over Anders' healing abilities in this chapter all came directly from the player. As an author, I like Anders as a character; as a player, I _adore_   him as a healer. I honestly noticed a huge difference between Wynne's healing capacity at the end of Origins and Anders' at the beginning of Awakening. Much of it, I suspect, was just Bioware tuning their mechanics a little better between games -- but in-story, I think Anders is just a better healer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter references character death. Specifically, the fates of the Companions if you choose to save Amaranthine and haven't upgraded the Vigil's Keep enough to withstand the siege without you. It's not dwelt on in any great detail, but it is mentioned.

There were advantages to being a Grey Warden, Anders thought. He was safe from the Templars, free of the Circle, and was guaranteed food and shelter (things that Anders, in his various escapes over the years, had learned not to take for granted) in the four-cot bedroom at Vigil's Keep.

A room which he even had  _all_  to himself, now that all his friends were dead.

 _Stop that,_  he berated himself, but what else was he supposed to think about? The battles were over. They'd won, for whatever that was worth. The Mother was dead, her darkspawn horde defeated and scattered, and Anders had helped lead the charge that had eliminated her taint from the world.

It was just too bad that while they were off busy in some Tevinter ruins in the Deep Roads, Vigil's Keep itself was getting sacked. Those they had left behind had put up a spirited defense, but ultimately a hopeless one - they had been overwhelmed. The Warden-Commander's party had returned to the keep to finish off the last of the darkspawn, but the damage had already been done.

They'd pulled Nathaniel's corpse out from under a whole pile of darkspawn; after his quiver had been exhausted, the archer had been overrun, and fought with his knife until he died. Sigrun too had met her end on her feet, and the spirited little dwarf had been torn nearly into shreds, far beyond a healer's ability to repair. They'd found Kristoff's body but not his head, parted company by a darkspawn blade; Anders didn't know what had become of the spirit Justice, if he could truly die this side of the Fade, but the body of Kristoff moved and spoke no more.

Of Velanna, there was no sign - but then again, they'd been working for a week so far and still hadn't recovered all the bodies from under the rubble when the wall had collapsed. Anders liked to think that she had survived, fled the battle and just hadn't bothered to come back. Oghren, at least, had definitely survived - but the only time Anders saw him awake within the last week, he'd been putting back liquor in a single-minded determination not to stay that way. Anders couldn't really blame him.

 _You could have saved them,_  the nagging little voice whispered.  _If you'd been here. You should have saved them._  It was an irrational thought and Anders knew it; not even the most talented healer could protect his friends from fifty miles away and underground, and he'd been needed where he was - helping the Warden rid the world of the menace of the Mother once and for all.  _It should have been me,_  equally irrational and without basis; there was no rational reason to feel that the others deserved to live more than him.

But no matter how rational the arguments against them, without much else to distract him the thoughts chased themselves around and around in his head, as closed and echoing as the curved stone walls of the Circle tower.  _You should have saved them. You should have been here._  A healer who couldn't even protect his friends was useless, and a mage who had no usefulness to others was…

A knock on the door startled him out of his despondent thoughts, followed shortly by a strong, thickly accented voice. "Brandygram!"

 _What?_  Anders couldn't have heard that right. He got up off the bed, crossed the room to unbolt and open the door. Standing in the hallway, a devilish grin on his face and a set of heavy glassware in his hands, stood an elf. Not just any elf, either - not that Anders was necessarily an expert in elves - but one with long pale hair and graceful tattoos on the side of his face, an elf Anders knew as well from reputation as from introduction.

But Anders could think of no reason why Zevran Arainai, the Hero of Ferelden's famous companion and the Warden-Commander's even more infamous lover, would be standing outside his door holding a decanter of - was that brandy? If so, that would explain at least half… Anders cleared his throat politely. "Brandy… what?" he asked.

"It is a tradition in Antiva," the elf told him, and cocked his head to the side inquiringly. "You do not know? When a man wishes to court a lovely woman he sends a messenger to her door with a gift. Or in this case, when a lovely woman wishes to send a gift to a friend." His smile widened even further.

Anders felt that he was several steps behind in this conversation, but the "lovely woman" in this case was not too hard to guess. "...So the Commander sent you to bring me a case of brandy as a gift?" he asked.

"Oh no!" the unexpected visitor assured him. "The gift in this case is me."

Anders stared. Opened his mouth, closed it again, cleared his throat. "...What?"

"You say that a lot, don't you?" The elf gave him an almost pitying look. "And here I always thought Circle mages were supposed to be scholars of great learning and perspicacity."

"You've knocked on the wrong door if you're looking for learning and perspicacity, I'm afraid," Anders said, mind still floundering. "I spent  _my_  years in the Circle planning daring escapes, drawing in my textbooks, and sleeping my way through my classes."

"But not your classmates?" The elf wiggled his eyebrows outrageously at him, and somehow managed to turn sideways and slide past Anders into his bedroom even though Anders had been sure he had been blocking the doorway.

"Well, sometimes," Anders admitted, and turned to follow his unexpected guest. The elf wandered over to one of the beds and seated himself comfortably on the mattress, setting out the decanter and a pair of glasses on the top of the sturdy chest at one end. For someone as short and slight as he was, he did a truly astonishing job of taking up space in a room.

Anders let the door fall shut behind him, surrendering to the inevitable fact that he had an elf in his room. An elven  _assassin,_  in his  _bedroom._  "Have I… dare I ask if I've done something to annoy the Commander lately?"

The elf chuckled, rich and throaty. "I can assure you that when she's annoyed with you, you'll know it. No, I am just here to share a drink and some friendly... conversation." He glanced up at Anders through the pale curtain of his hair, his eyes a piercing green. "It seemed like you are in need of a friend."

That sent an unexpected bolt of sensation through Anders' chest - he wasn't even sure if it was cold pain, or warm gratitude. Unconsciously he raised one hand to rub at the pain as he tried to figure, "Is that a friend as in friend, or a friend as in...  _friend?"_

"Oh,  _everyone_  becomes  _friends_  once they drink enough fine spirits together," the elf said, with a smirk that made it hard to tell which of Anders' double meanings he was responding to. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zevran Arainai." Even sitting down, he managed to sketch an elegant bow, topped with a flourish. "My friends, they call me Zev."

"I'm Anders. And my friends also call me Anders," he said. "You know, I feel like I already know a lot about you. The commander likes to talk about you."

"Oh, really?" Zevran flashed him a charming smile. It reminded him a lot of a cat's face, actually, smug and satisfied and hiding wickedly sharp fangs behind it. Admittedly, the thought wasn't as frightening as it could have been, since Anders  _liked_  cats. "Did she tell you about the time she and I met?"

"No, actually," Anders said, settling down on his own bunk. "The story I heard involved more of you trying to assassinate someone else and ending up falling out of a four-story window naked into the river below."

Zevran stared at him, eyes wide and ears pointed straight up. "She told you  _that_  story?"

Anders cleared his throat, trying to battle back a creeping blush that threatened to rise up at the memory. "Well, it was relevant to the situation at the time," he said.

The hazel eyes narrowed, and the razor-sharp smirk was back. "Well, then," he said, and uncapped the brandy with a  _clink._  "Clearly I have some catching-up to do when it comes to telling tales. Have you ever heard the story of when she was captured by Rendon Howe?"

"I don't think she ever talked about it," Anders said.

"I imagine not," Zevran said. He leaned forward, eyes glinting, holding a glass of golden liquid out towards Anders. "I had to break into the fortress to rescue her, and she fought her way to freedom in only her smalls."

A laugh burst out of Anders' mouth, surprising him; he reached out and accepted the glass, his fingers brushing the elf's for a moment as it changed hands. "Okay," he said, settling back against his pillow. "You got me. I have to hear about this."

"Well." Zevran sat back, the second glass in his own hands. "Before I could begin, I had only a handful of hours in which to acquire a case of glitter, a trained mabari and a circus master's license…"

The story went on from there, growing more and more outrageous, and the last of Anders' misgivings vanished as he laughed himself into stitches. More glasses followed, and more stories, Anders able to contribute a few of his own. Though he had never done anything as exciting as battle an archdemon, Anders was able to spice up enough stories of his escapes to be entertaining.

Somehow the two of them ended up on the same bed, seated at opposite ends of the mattress. As Anders talked, detailing a perhaps-slightly-exaggerated five-way chase between himself, two Templars, a madame, and a mabari warhound in the hallways of a brothel, Zevran reached over and took hold of Anders' legs, pulling his feet into his own lap. Anders had already taken off his boots so as not to dirty the sheets, and so Zevran was able to casually smooth his hands over the top of Anders' feet and begin rubbing the insteps.

Anders faltered for a moment, thrown off the rhythm of his storytelling, but a combination of the warmth of the brandy and Zevran's nonchalant attitude kept him going. His feet had been aching ever since the long trudge back from the Broodmother's lair, to say nothing of being on them for hours on end healing the wounded in the infirmary, and oh  _Maker_  Zevran's hands felt good.

For appearing so slender and delicate, his fingers were astonishingly strong. Anders groaned aloud and oozed a little further down the wall, stretching his legs further across Zevran's lap. "Don't stop," he sighed happily.

"As you wish," Zevran murmured, a sly smile playing over his mouth, and he stretched his hands up to knead at Anders' calves as well. "But you were saying - something about charging your stay to the Templar's regular tab…?"

"Oh - right," Anders said, and began the story that went with that. Zevran continued blithely about his business, pulling off first one of Anders' socks, then the other. Anders paid it no mind until Zevran also began efficiently stripping the laces out of the sides of his leggings, pushing them open as he worked his way steadily up Anders' legs under the hem of his robe.

"Um," Anders said, thoroughly losing the thread of his story. "What… are you doing?"

"What does it look like I am doing?" the elf asked rhetorically, as he finished the laces on the left side. With one smooth pull the pants sleeve came off, leaving Anders bare under his robe up to his waist.

"You're, um," Anders had to swallow, as Zevran methodically switched over to the other side. "You're taking my clothes off." The others had been right; Anders  _did_  make a habit of stating the ridiculously obvious.

"Yes, I am," Zevran said, and looked up to meet his eyes with a wide bright smile. "There is that Circle perspicacity once again!"

"Can I ask  _why_  you're taking my clothes off?" Anders asked, since he'd come this far in adventures of obviousness.

"Well," Zevran said, shifting to kneel between Anders' now-bare legs. He picked up Anders' ankle in one hand, and lowered his mouth to the inside of his knee. A hot, damp breath was followed by an even hotter mouth, pressure and suction, and Anders let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding as the sensation shot right up the inside of his leg to his groin. "The intent  _was_  for me to fuck you."

Whatever Anders had to say to that, it emerged only as a strangled squeak. Zevran glanced up at him, and cocked his head to one side inquisitively. "…Unless you'd rather do the fucking? I have no objections to that."

Anders forced himself to swallow. It felt like the most arduous task he'd ever undertaken, charging into the Deep Roads included. "But I thought you… and the warden…" he managed to stammer out.

"Oh, yes," Zevran agreed easily, thumb stroking over the bone of Anders' inner ankle. Anders had not particularly thought of his ankles as sexy before. Had honestly not really considered any part of his body in terms of sex except for the specifically sexual bits. In the Circle it was always straight to the main event, finale, done. Not really a lot of room for foreplay in a schedule consisting of five-minute rendezvous. But he couldn't help now but be aware of his legs, of the bend of the knee and the soft skin behind them and on the inside of the thigh, the muscles and tendons where they flexed and pulled up into the join of his hips, and  _oh maker,_  he could feel every inch of his skin tingling with anticipation. "But there are some experiences you simply cannot get with a woman, you know? At least, not unless she brings out her collection of strap-on -"

"No! Please!" Anders clapped his hands over his face, as though he could physically push out the unwanted thoughts. "I don't want to hear any details."

"You don't? Really?" Zevran sounded surprised. "And here I heard you were more… adventurous."

"Well...  _generally_  adventurous, yes," Anders hedged. "But not about the Commander. She's my boss! And she's also... she's..."

"Terrifying?" Zevran suggested helpfully.

"Yes!" It wasn't that the thought had  _never_  crossed Anders' mind. He wouldn't be Anders if he didn't at least consider the possibilities of every healthy, attractive person of any race and gender to cross his path. And the commander  _was_  attractive - height aside, she was all woman (in fact, though he wouldn't say so aloud, Anders privately thought of her as six and a half feet of woman packed into a four-foot frame.)

But she was also dangerous. Even after all this time, being in her presence sent a little frission up Anders' spine, activating his latent fight-or-flight response (of course, Anders being Anders, it was pretty much all flight and no fight.) Knowing in his conscious mind that she was his friend, that she cared about him and he about her, let him relax and enjoy her company all the same - the instinctive knowledge that if the big bad monsters did come crashing through the wall, she could handily bash their heads together and keep him safe. And she inspired him, made him feel alert and alive, made him want to prove his courage and his worth to her.

But the thought of being vulnerable in her presence, in the way that intimacy would require, was just… paralyzing. In a way that was antithetical to any kind of sexytimes. "You know, the first mission she brought me along on, we were going to rescue a kidnapped girl from a group of bandits," Anders said. "When she told them who she was, not only did they run for their lives, one of them actually  _jumped off a cliff._ "

Zevran hooted with laughter. Anders was encouraged. "And she managed to scatter an angry mob just by scowling at them!"

"That does sound like my love, yes," he said when he managed to get hold of himself. "I had a very similar reaction the first time we met. I had hired a group of twelve men to ambush the Warden... I woke up fifteen minutes later on the ground with a pair of swords crossed over my throat." He smiled, and gave a nostalgic sigh. "It was, how shall we say, love at first sight."

"You know, no offense, but I think you're insane," Anders informed him.

"That is what all my lovers say," Zevran agreed. "See, already you fit right in."

"Look, I mean it," Anders said somewhat more seriously, tugging at his ankle to free it from Zevran's grip. "You're good-looking and lots of fun, but… I respect the Commander. I don't want to hurt her. And I  _definitely_  don't want her to hurt  _me_  for, you know, stealing her man. Elf. Whatever."

Zevran scoffed. "You would have to get up much earlier in the morning to steal  _me,"_  he said. "My love and I, we do not believe in chains. We wish for each other to find happiness and joy in life, wherever it may be found. It is only a bit of fun, after all."

Anders considered that from all angles, and didn't see any particular loopholes. "Well… all right. I wouldn't want it to be anything  _more_  than fun, anyway. Attachments, commitments, not really my style."

"Then we are agreed?" Zevran paused with one eyebrow cocked in inquiry, hand poised right above Anders' knee.

Anders would have liked to blame the brandy, but honestly he'd made enough bad decisions in his life completely sober that this one didn't even register. "Yes," he said, and reached down to pull Zevran up to meet him.

Zevran's skin smelled strange to Anders, used to the scents of lyrium, ink and elfroot. There was the tang of metal and blood, the warm smell of well-worn leather, and something dark and bitter underneath it.  _Deep mushroom,_  Anders thought, able to identify the plant from his own medicinal stores,  _and something else. Deathroot?_  Ingredients used to make poisons, perhaps. It was a warning combination, but also heady and exciting, a thrill of danger wrapped in the guise of sweet temptation. Perhaps Zevran's particular brand of insanity was contagious.

They kissed slow but deep, hungry for each other's mouths. Anders gave way gracefully, letting Zevran press him onto his back on the cot and pull at the edges of his robes to leave his chest bare. Pleasure flitted across his skin, up his sides and down his stomach at Zevran's touch; he moaned throatily and arched his spine into the touches, reaching up to twist his hand in the collar of Zevran's leather jerkin. Those fascinating tattoos traveled from his face down the side of his neck and disappeared under the neckline; Anders wanted to see more of them, to follow all the places they went, just the tiniest spark of electricity from his fingers to light each curve and angle.

Zevran leaned over Anders with his arms braced on either side of the mattress as he ran his eyes up and down Anders' body. He was hot as a furnace, leaving Anders panting and nearly delirious with the heat. Zevran's hand closed about his erection, pulling them together, and his grip was so hot Anders writhed into the touch. He wanted more, he wanted this; he wanted more of Zevran.

The other man murmured something unintelligible against his mouth - in Antivan? Or was Anders just too lost in the heat of passion to understand him? - and bit down on Anders's lower lip, and the small spike of pain shot down his spine to his groin. Anders let out a low groan, and his hands scrabbled against the other man's back, nails digging into the sweat-slick skin.

"Are you just going to tease all day?" Anders huffed, making a show of annoyance to try to cover how much difficulty he had catching his breath. "Or are we actually going to fuck?"

"Well, if you want to go any further it  _does_  help to take your clothes off," Zevran said drily.

"You were the one who was having so much fun with that earlier, weren't you?" Anders leaned back and smirked, refusing to do any of the work. Zevran laughed quietly, and leaned forward to continue that endeavor.

He raised his arms obligingly as Zevran undid the fastenings on his robes and pulled them off. Once the robe was out of the way, tossed carelessly to puddle on the floor, Zevran stood up and doffed his own jerkin, then fell to unlacing his pants. Anders sat up and raked his eyes hungrily over Zevran's skin, the swooping curves of the tattoos revealed. Anders felt a shiver of heat go down his spine as Zevran's proud, upright erection was revealed, and had to close his eyes for a moment to fight to control the rush of blood to his face. He would not blush like an apprentice, Void take it… even if this felt more like a pounding hunger than shyness or embarrassment.

Now naked, Zevran took charge again as he pushed Anders back against the mattress and climbed to kneel astride him. Anders leaned up, chasing the taste of deathroot and steel again, but Zevran only licked once at his lips before he pulled away. He began to lay a trail of licks and small, sharp bites down the skin of Anders' chest and stomach. Anders reached up and threaded his hands through Zevran's hair; the light blond strands were just as soft as they looked, fine as cornsilk and tickling his palm. How he managed to keep it so fine and clean when he traveled so much, Anders had no idea; maybe it was an elven thing.

His breath rasped in his throat with anticipation as Zevran slowed, running his tongue down the crease of Anders's hip towards his groin. He strained his neck for a moment to try to watch; Zevran's expression was intent, his eyes half-lidded and his lips curled as though laughing at some private joke. He glanced upwards and met Anders' gaze just as his lips brushed over the head of Anders's cock; he let his head fall back with a small cry, vision swimming dizzily.

Zevran's hands gripped his hips with surprising strength, holding him firmly down as he enveloped the tip of Anders's cock in his mouth. Anders clutched his hand in Zevran's hair, trying to make him go faster, deeper, something, but Zevran had all the leverage. His hot mouth enveloped the head of Anders's cock and began to suck, while he released one hand to stroke up Anders's shaft towards the head. A wash of stars seemed to follow each stroke of his fingers, and Anders gave out a little cry as he writhed in the scratchy blankets, overcome by sensation.

"Oh, Maker's  _balls_  that's good," he gasped out, and Zevran raised an eyebrow in his direction before he pulled back, wiping the back of his hand over his chin.

"You know, it's been a while since I had a lover who profaned the Chant so," Zevran quipped.

Anders was too busy blinking the spots out of his eyes to think of a good comeback to that, so he settled on a breathless, "Sorry."

"No, no…" Zevran licked his lips, and inched his body further down to reposition himself. He pushed one of Anders' knees out to the side, giving him full access to all Anders' least pious aspects. "Continue."

He wasn't going to - Maker,  _he was._  A hot, slick tongue rolled down the crease of his hip, passed his balls in order to push into his entrance. Anders' head slammed back against the pillow, and this time he really did see stars as he missed the pillow and cracked against the headboard. "Fuck!" he shouted, and  _felt_  Zevran chuckle.

Not wanting to spoil the moment, Anders concentrated for a moment enough to reach up and heal the throbbing impact site before it could swell up to a goose egg, then reached down and trailed his still-glowing hand over the top of Zevran's shoulder and down his tight-muscled biceps. The rogue groaned appreciatively as he did, which Anders appreciated even  _more_  with Zevran's tongue buried in his asshole, holy fuck.

"Ah, the advantages to bedding a mage," Zevran said as he pushed himself up again. "Speaking of which: do you have any elfroot salves?"

"What?" Anders blinked up at the rogue, trying to get his thoughts in order. "I'm a  _spirit healer,_  Zev. Why would I need elfroot salves?"

Zevran tsked. "Such a shame. I've found it quite handy in the past, for use as lubrication. Well, if you have nothing, then I guess we'll have to call the whole thing off -" He started to sit backwards, pulling his heated skin away from Anders'.

"Andraste's flaming  _hair,_  get back here," Anders cursed, grabbing him and yanking him back into place, maybe with a little extra wriggle for the friction. "You are intolerable, did anyone ever tell you that?" Firmly he took Zevran's hand between his own and cast a simple grease spell, filling the rogue's palm with slick, odorless (also highly flammable, but hopefully that wouldn't become an issue) oil.

"Many times," Zevran smirked, but at least he gave up on the teasing.

Zevran slid back into place, propping one of Anders's legs over his shoulders as he spread his fingers and hand with the slick lotion. Anders squirmed uncomfortably at the intrusion of slippery fingers, but it really felt too good for him to want to stop.

At last Zevran positioned himself between Anders's thighs, and Anders hissed as the hard head of his cock began to penetrate him. Zevran went slowly, but it was hard, trying to relax enough to stop the uncomfortable burn of penetration. Breathing air that felt like fire between them, Anders wrapped his arms around Zevran's shoulders and used that leverage to pull himself up, pressing his forehead against Zevran's.

" _Braska_ ," Zevran said, and he sounded as out of breath as Anders felt. Anders really, really hoped that wasn't the name of another lover, because that would be kind of insulting under the circumstances. "Anders, you are - you are exquisite."

"Yes," Anders moaned. He sounded utterly wanton, and he didn't care. "More, please…"

Zevran began to rock his hips up into Anders's, sending a rhythm between them. Anders felt his fingers slipping through the sweat on his back, and on a sudden impulse he raised his head and licked a line through the sweat sheening Zevran's forehead. It tasted salty and delicious, with just a hint of that bitter tang of danger.

"Oh, I can do one better than that," Zevran said breathlessly. Shifting his grip on Anders' shoulders down to his elbows, he cautiously sat up, then leaned back. The change of angle caused Zevran to brush against the sensitive place inside of him, and he gasped and convulsively tightened his grip on Zevran's hips, bleeding creation energy as he did.

"What are you doing?" Anders managed to ask, craning his neck to survey the view. Zevran met his eyes with a heated promise, and raised his arms to lace his fingers behind his neck. Still with that insufferable smirk, he bent down… and down… pulling the back of his neck down until his back nearly folded in half. His tips brushed the head of Anders' cock, and the dual sensation of being fucked and sucked at the same time made Anders buck and shout.

"Oh  _Maker_ ," Anders moaned, his head dropping back onto the pillow. "Human spines do not bend that way!"

"Really?" Zevran said, sounding only a little strained by his folded-up position. "I feel sorry for humans, then."

Anders wheezed a laugh and then arched his spine, thrusting his hips just a little higher so that Zevran's mouth could engulf him again even as Zevran's cock filled him. It was too much, too good, heated breathless push and sweet magnetic pull, forming a current through his hips that blazed throughout his body. His hands grasped for something to hold onto and could only reach Zevran's knees, the rest of him too far to touch, but it was at least a handhold that he could cling to for dear life.

He felt his legs quiver and his balls tighten and draw up as orgasm approached, and he arched off the bed, hand moving faster as his breath harshened in his throat. "Please," he gasped out, too far gone for any kind of witty one-liners, too far gone to care. "Please, Zev - Zev, I need - I need -"

Anders wouldn't have put it past the assassin to draw it out even further, teasing him with his delicious mouth and even more delicious cock all evening, but thank the Maker, Zevran decided to have mercy on him. He shifted position, taking one hand from the back of his neck to join his mouth on Anders' cock, jerking firmly and quickly in rhythm to his thrusts. Two more fierce, earth-shaking jerks later and Anders lost it, a shout tearing loose from his throat as he came.

He honestly lost track of things for the next few minutes, mind still blown from one of the best orgasms he'd ever experienced; he could feel Zevran grip his hips with both hands, still pounding into him. The elf arched his back and came with a throaty moan, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. Anders had enough presence of his mind to open his eyes and focus on Zevran's face as he came, his eyes shut tight and his mouth hanging open. It was an even better look on him, Anders thought, than the smug smirk he wore the rest of the time.

Not that he hadn't earned a little smugness, by then. Even Anders would give him that.

Afterwards they rested briefly together; the cot wasn't really meant for two, but Zevran was a small person, and Anders liked the contact. "That was good," Zevran hummed, sounding pleased and satisfied. "And you are in a much better mood now, no?"

"Oh, it was fantastic," Anders agreed. He felt strangely energized, not at all sleepy. "Almost as good as the last orgy I attended at the Circle."

Zevran stared at him speechlessly for a moment, then laughed. He reached across Anders to the trunk by the end of the bed, and rescued the rest of the brandy.  "What, so that  _is_  true?" he said. "My faith in this world is restored. And here when I asked another mage from the Fereldan Circle, she said there was no such thing."

"Who was it?" Anders asked, accepting the half-glass Zevran offered him. He was quite sure that Zevran had never actually been to the Circle; he would have heard the gossip. But when he went back in his mind over the short list of mages who were actually allowed out on a regular basis, he came up with - "Surely not Wynne?"

"Oh, you know her?" Zevran's eyebrow slid up, he and knocked back the shot. " _She_  said I had a perverted imagination."

Anders chuckled. "Wynne's just jealous that nobody ever invited  _her_  to any orgies."

Zevran yawned again. Far from sleep, Anders nudged his partner in the side. "Come on," he said. "Don't pass out on me now. I'm up for another go, aren't you?" One where he maybe got to be a bit more in charge, this time. Anders did like to be dominated - well, by anyone  _other_  than Templars - but he liked variety even more.

"I'm afraid I'm doomed to disappoint you," Zevran apologized. "But I'm afraid not all of us have the legendary stamina of the Grey Wardens. Give me another half-hour, and then we'll see."

"That's really a thing?" Anders was surprised. He'd heard of it, of course, but he'd dismissed it along with all of the other, even less likely rumors about Grey Wardens. Perhaps he should have paid more attention; now he was one, after all. This was simply the first opportunity he'd had since he became a Warden himself to try it out, and he was loath to lose the opportunity to sleep.

Fortunately, he didn't have to. Anders had learned a lot of tricks in the Circle, some magical, some not, but all of them with the aim of  _hurrying things along._  You couldn't exactly wait out an hour-long refractory period if you only had five minutes before the next patrol came down the corridor, after all.

Anders flipped around and inched his way down Zevran's body until he reached his hips. Zevran pushed himself up on his elbows and followed his progress, looking somewhat bemused. Anders grinned up at him, and waggled his fingers. "Speaking of the advantages to being a mage," he said, letting a pale green glow flare around them. "I think you'll like this one."

He reached between Zevran's legs, pressing long fingers gently against his balls, and let the magic flow.

* * *

 

It was late enough that the hallways of Vigil's Keep were deserted, most of the inhabitants having long since sought their beds. Which meant that the sound of Zevran pounding on the wooden door echoed loudly through the Keep, with nothing to muffle or drown out his exuberant voice.

"Natya! My love!" Zevran shouted through the door, banging on it again. "You must come at once! You have  _got_  to see what he can do with his hands!  _Our troubles are over!"_

"Oh, Maker preserve me," Anders whimpered, and hid himself under the bed.

* * *

~end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders ended up being a bit of a straight (har) man to Zevran in this fic, despite him usually being silly and adventurous. I'm putting that down to him being, as is the premise of the fic, pretty depressed from his recent combat experience. My understanding of Anders' past is that prior to meeting up with the Warden, he was never involved in any extensive intense bouts of violence; he was mostly a nonviolent resister, and Circle life is otherwise quite sheltered.


End file.
